The Wish
by ajattra
Summary: Post Hellseeker. Kirsty Cotton's life has been consumed by the cenobytes and their hell. With nothing else to look forward to but enslavement in the Labyrinth, undone by her own addiction to their puzzles, what is her true desire? Kirsty/Pinhead


**The Wish**

Everything has been a haze ever since the 'accident'. For any outsiders I am merely a grieving widow trying to come to terms with the suicide of a loved one. But my hell is much worse than that.

I used to tell the world all about it: the blunt and unadulterated truth that no one would listen. They only saw a grieving daughter trying to come to terms with the death of her father. Occam's razor: The simplest answer is usually the correct one, so I was insane.

But I knew in my core that I was a survivor. That hell as a fiery pit was a concept drawn by someone with highly limited imagination – much like mine used to be before the nightmares. I would dream vivid dreams of torture and otherworldly pleasures stemming from a cruel reality. Now I can't even take pleasure from things without a taste of pleasure's counterpart. It has been so for years. And when I was lost and insecure and unable to trust anyone, he took notice of me.

I just wanted to be loved. I wanted to trust someone again. I wanted to feel safe. He gave me all of those things and more. He showed me desires I hadn't dreamed of yet. So I made myself believe that I could love him and that we could be happy.

Ultimately we weren't. I came to realize that Trevor was actually just like my bastard uncle Frank – a weak man governed by nothing but his desires. Nothing on this earth could satiate his thirst, so he began to search for an otherworldly source. And then he found it. Too bad for Trevor he played right into their hands: the hands that were eager to experience my flesh rather than his.

Trevor betrayed me in the worst possible way. For over ten years I had avoided their grasp, reliving our short time together only through dreams. There were days when I would hardly even remember them or the horrible deeds of my own family. Because I didn't know better I was content. I was at peace. And then Trevor gave me a puzzle box to solve on our wedding day. He knew what he was doing. He wanted to give me to them. For years he would shake me awake at night after an all-too-real nightmare and hold me as I cried. When he finally grew tired of me he planned to make these dreams reality.

Trevor and I had one thing in common: we both yearned to open the box deep down. Only I knew what lay beneath it, for I had already met the wizard years ago and survived. One could also say I was the one who knew how to bargain with him. And apparently he knew how to find me as well.

Being back in the Labyrinth finally let me have a breath. When I was there I could just go through the pleasantries with no rush, because time had little meaning there. Ours was always such a strange relationship, yet it was comforting to know there was someone out there who was beyond facades and lies. The demon was honest to me. And he would always hurt the people that hurt me. I could trust in his desire to hurt me and his ability to see through my flesh.

Yet as we stood there I was finally able to fully grasp his desire to experience my flesh. I realized that he yearned for more – my soul. I panicked like I always do in the face of danger and chose to bargain with the devil. I gave him my innocence to save my flesh and he revelled in my anguish. As the deal was struck, I could feel his satisfaction over my choice. He had a twisted sense of admiration that deemed me worthy of respect. I suppose you have to be pretty devious to gain the admiration of a demon.

Now I feel I've cheated death again, but this time my sense of security is gone. I've merely postponed my fate, seeing as I have absolute faith in hell's intention to claim me. And having subconsciously waited for it for the better part of a decade, I don't know if I even want to avoid this fate any longer.

These are all the thoughts racing through my head as I stare at the puzzle box on the living room table. The sun is setting in the distance. I keep waiting for a phone call. I still have doubts over my ability to sell the grieving widow act. Or perhaps the truth is more appealing than the lie, because I can't imagine the horrors of jail raising a candle on the horrors of the Labyrinth.

I didn't hesitate when I pulled out the gun and killed Trevor. I do feel some regret about it now; my feelings for him died a bit too quickly upon learning of his treachery, if these feelings even existed in the first place. When I let my rage take over me, I saw a glimpse of my own dark side – I was saturated with the same hurt and jealousy that drove Julia into murder and carnage. I never thought I had the same bad blood in me.

I'd always refused to think about why I was able to open the box in the first place. According to Tiffany, the box could only be opened by the right kind of desire to explore its contents. Chanard had had that desire, not Tiffany. But I was able to open the box all on my own. Deep down I was drawn to hell even then!

Trevor wasn't a good person. He enjoyed the pain of others. He never truly loved me. I know that he didn't deserve to die, yet I was not prepared to die either. I didn't need to open the box for the second time, but I felt I needed it against my basic sense. And when it was too late to back out, I convinced myself that killing Trevor was the lesser evil. Was it now really?

Or was it about winning the game between me and the demon? One way or the other I would've lost my soul – to them or to sin. Was it about not acknowledging my need for the box? He said he wanted me, so why did he let me go? He went through such trouble to get to me – he even corrupted my husband – so why did he let me go? I just cannot make sense of it.

A terrible thought has been lurking in my mind for months now. The knowledge that the only person I can even connect with right now is a demon from the Labyrinth, a torturer of mortals and devourer of souls. This isn't like the rotting bodies of vampires that romantic books are full of nowadays, but an actual demon, a corrupted soul that had barely any resemblance to a human. Why is that he is the only person I can depend on? Why is it that he is the only being who can understand my desires?

I fear him and the other demons. The Labyrinth is inviting and yet it fills me with despair. But the more I allow myself to think and dream, the more I realize I am beginning to yearn for it. This world feels grey and random pickups with their one night stands aren't coming close to the painful games I had played with Trevor. I have moved beyond safe and nice and desire the unknown and unusual. I can't feel joy anymore. All I have is this yearning that I'm terrified of.

I should've thrown away the box. I should've divorced Trevor and let him entrap some other weak willed woman. But I chose to hurt him back. I chose to destroy him and those around him. I wanted someone else to suffer like I had. This makes a sinner and a wicked creature. I keep wondering what I have here that is worth living for. I keep wondering what a relief it would be to find out I really am insane and that these creatures really don't exist.

Instead I light candles and play with their flames. I let it lick my skin ever so lightly. I pick a candle and drop stearin on my arm to feel it burn me. I dream of fucking in so many ways that these dreams leave me drained. Be it with women or men, mortals or demons, I always find myself moaning in the dark, wet and ready. I should probably hate what I've become, but I acknowledge that these were my own choices that led me here. I could've escaped the Channard Institute instead of getting Kyle killed, I could've closed the doors of hell and taken Tiffany with me, I could've gone to the police instead of running to my father and I could've chosen not to participate in Trevor's ploy.

The Labyrinth has been calling me. It's marked me as its possession. I escaped it thrice, but left something of myself there and brought something from it with me to this side. When I sit at a bar and watch for anyone to drown my sorrows into, they come to me without asking. They can see something in me, like I've been touched by gods of pain and pleasure. I always find the kinky ones, and the rough ones and the wounded ones. When I ask them to pierce my skin with needles, they never refuse.

It's safe to indulge my desires here. If I were lost for good, I would already be at the Labyrinth, so I'm still hanging onto myself. I grasp a wine glass on the glass table and bring the sweet nectarine to my lips. My hair is wild, my make up isdark and my collarbone is riddled with teeth marks. My black underwear fits me nicely and the red kimono has become a favorite of mine. Right now I'm just waiting and my body responds to the anticipation like it were the sweetest thing.

I think of myself as a child of twenty years, so comfortable in my jeans and t-shirts and wonder when I began to change and ripen into an adult and a lover. It had to be with Trevor. He would always come up with a gift bag or two and whisper to my ear, "_Wear this to bed, baby". _He would buy me clothes to wear while fucking – basically anything you never thought you'd wear: From thongs to corsettes to stockings to genuine fetish clothing. He would go crazy with uniforms and boots whether it was latex, rubber or lace. I loved cat suits and roles, but strangely I always dreaded being naked and without a part to play. Was it ever true intimacy, I wonder?

My lover stirs in my bed, as if waking from a lovely dream. He passed out after our encounter, drained by my games and deadly desires. I can't remember his name anymore, but that's become the norm. I travel further and further away from the city each time I search for company. It's a game when we drive back here. I let them touch me in the car, maybe stop for an appetizer. I lick their wet fingers after I've let them fingerfuck me and give them a glimpse of my underwear. I promise pleasure and I deliver.

He moves in my room and I drink more of the dark wine. Perhaps I like being dulled down so that the finale of our encounter does not affect me. Or perhaps I fear realizing that I don't need poisons to withstand it. I can hear him move to the door and open it. The handle makes a distinct sound and the door whines as it opens. He walks up to me, tall and lean and completely naked. I look up with my big eyes and feel his hungry eyes devour me.

"You weren't tired, babe?" He asks with a husky voice and sinks his hand in my hair almost affectionately. He seems gentler all-around when compared to my usual type. Perhaps he thinks we'll explore the unknown together?

"No, I wanted some wine," I answer with a smile and bring the glass to my lips again. I put on new lipstick when I left him to sleep and my lips leave stains on the glass. He seems to like what he's seeing though and leans closer. "What next? I like what I've seen so far."

I glance quickly at the puzzle box on the glass table and his eyes follow mine. He moves in to pick it up, clearly fascinated already. His long hair reaches his shoulders and he's unshaven except for his face. I look at him, finding him pleasing to the eye, but ultimately incapable of ever becoming anything more than a student to me. I didn't even grant him the pleasure of using my needles.

"What's this?" he asks, unable to take his eyes away from the object he's holding. He's entranced by it, as I knew he would be. I can tell nowadays, recognize these kindred spirits. They all have the seed of a great yearning growing inside. He moves his hands over the puzzle box, feeling its curlicue shapes with his fingertips and trying to get a grasp of what he's holding. He wouldn't believe me if I told him it was a gateway to heaven and hell.

I lay the glass from my hand on the table and get up. I'm ripe with anticipation, ready for another glimpse of hell. "Just a puzzle box," I respond reciting the same words I do each time. "Try and open it?"

I wonder if I looked the same when I took the box in my hands and began opening it wearing my youthful skin and that dreadful hospital gown. I can tell he's connected with the forces that decide who opens the box and who doesn't, for he's fully aroused already. His grip has tightened and he manages to open one part of the box all by himself. I take a step back and bite my lower lip gently. I think of all these men and women I've brought here and shown this exact same thing. I wonder what my younger self would think of me. Would she think me wicked and following in the footsteps of Julia and Frank? Would she despise me?

Then he opens it. He smiles so brightly for a moment before the flash comes and with it the hooks. They dig into his flesh and he screams. The blood ruins another carpet and he turns to me to plead for help, but I remain unmoved. I can feel a breeze of cool air behind me. Two cenobytes appear next to my lover and they grab him. One demon appears behind me and he stands right behind me. Our skins are touching ever so lightly and he lifts my hand, by placing his behind mine. His touch feels electric.

I bend my head backwards and lean a bit closer to him. He's cold and even his breath on my neck has no warmth. I can feel the ends of the needles tickle my skin as he leans in just a bit to whisper into my ear, "You're ripe already Kirsty." His voice is hoarse and it caresses me.

I remember the first time I made someone else open the box. I did my homework you see. There are different kinds of boxes with different kinds of rules. Frank's box only affected the one that opened it. Channard's box opened a gateway to many. Trevor's box is also bound to the person who opens it. I have no obligation to follow unless I wish to. And the demon knows it; he's been patient with me for decades. He enjoys our games and hopes he can take me with him one of these times. I'm so close to falling that I know I won't say never forever.

"How's Trevor?" I ask him with a wicked smile. Whenever he's around I never show weakness. I want him to believe I don't doubt myself. That I believe Trevor deserved everything I did to him.

His hand moves away from mine and another snakes around me, landing on my belly. It teases me with the thought that with just a few inches it'd slide under my thong. My nipples harden with the thought and I can feel the warm and moist gather between my legs. I lose my mind when I'm around him. I lose all sense and memory and all that remains is the cruel fantasy of being fucked by him. Only he can give me what I want and need.

"He dreams of you, very much like uncle Frank does," he says and moves another hand to my body underneath my armpit. It goes to my face and caresses my cheek. He's bound by the rules, he can't hurt me here, but for a little while we're finally on common ground. "Frank's greatest dream is chasing you, Kirsty. And then hurting you and fucking you. But he never quite gets there."

He rubs his hand on my stomach a bit and smells my hair. I know his dream is probably to tear me apart and that he's trying his best to lure me in. He knows of my desires and has had eons to practice the art of seduction. He cannot lie because I already know what the Labyrinth is. I know he is not an angel and that his pleasure is riddled with thorns. However he makes my blood boil.

"No more lies about my father?" I ask, having come to terms with the fact that the Labyrinth cannot take the dead some years ago. I like to believe there's a place opposite to the Labyrinth that gives you peace. I don't know if it's at God's doorstep, or if the Labyrinth is even the only hell that exists, but these thoughts have given me peace already.

"I played that hand ten years ago and I trust you've overgrown your foolish need for a strong man in your life," he explains, sounding quite amused with my comment. I can only think of the strong man I want inside me repeatedly. Even his voice sends shivers down my spine.

His fingers pet my cheek and he opens my kimono. With a tuck it slides off me and falls to the floor. I can feel his satisfaction in my spine as his arousal presses against my back. Suddenly I'm all out of witty comebacks. I had always assumed cenobytes were somewhat asexual. I don't know why, perhaps because it was so hard to tell females and males apart. Entertaining sexual fantasies about the demon was a forbidden passion I didn't quite think was even possible until now. Suddenly I wonder how I even seem desirable in such a creature's eyes. I'm just human: no extreme piercing or disfiguration, just simple unblemished skin.

"Why so quiet Kirsty? Is this not what you dream of each night while you twist and turn in your bed?" He asks with a bit of mockery in his voice and also a taste of clear lust. I'm frozen and cannot turn around to face him as I would've done ten years ago. There's a stirring inside me. I want him.

"Shouldn't you be leaving soon?" I ask, visibly shaken as I realize he's stayed longer and longer every time I call him. He seems to catch my thinking and presses a cold kiss on my shoulder. "Our repeated visits have made your home quite susceptible location for a summoning. The walls grow thin."

I turn at the same instant he says this and face a flattering grin. There's a dark gleam in his eyes. His skin is as pale as ever, his pins sharper, and his navel piercing is emphasized by the way his robes are cut, which also implies other piercings in more intimate places. I can see the bulge in the front of his robes. Why him? Why this murderer and demon, who is a true monster, no matter how much he was once human?

I shiver in my underwear and realize that we're alone in the room. As if sensing my thoughts again, he lights every candle in the room with thought. The lamp in the ceiling dies immediately after, leaving us in candle light. "Ohhhh, Kirsty," he says with that familiar tone he always uses when he talks to me. It's almost kind and gentle.

He moves closer to me again and I back up as he moves closer. I hit the glass table behind me, trip and knock over the wine glass. Cursing my hurt foot I fall on the sofa and freeze still as he walks right over and stops in front of me. I feel weak all over. "How much longer will you delay the inevitable?" he asks and grabs my hand, pulling me back on my feet.

He studies me, running his fingers all around my body. When he finds the center between my legs he stops and applies pressure to the moist area and rubs it gently. I can feel the wetness push through my thong as waves of desire ravage my body. "You belong to the Labyrinth; have since you opened the box all those years ago."

I finally get some control over my actions and I look straight into his dark eyes as I say, "And how boring would've that been for you?"

I've been thinking about it for years. Once my youthful rebellion died, I began to contemplate more on the events that led to my father's death. I don't quite think I was just lucky to escape the cenobytes. They could've taken me, but it was his deal that gave me a chance, despite the protests of his companions. It was him, who came to my aid when Frank was about to attack me. What did they gain from saving me? But the moment Frank raised his hand; the hooks came to save me. When Channard came to kill me and Tiffany, it was him who saved me. When Trevor tried to kill me, it was him who saved me. Quite frankly I don't believe in luck.

"I would be in hell if you wished that. Instead you keep saving me time after time. So why?" I ask truly curious about this. I clearly catch him by surprise and get him to think for a bit. He hesitates and his hand stops.

"Your fate has always been the Labyrinth Kirsty," he finally says with that grave voice. "But not so young and incomplete. Not so weak and easily manipulated. Not because you had your heart broken by a man." I can see his filthy teeth as he speaks, but he doesn't scare me anymore. Have I been groomed? Has he been aiming at this the whole time?

"This is what you wanted me to be all along?" I ask, starting to get mad. "A slut and a murderer? An addict to pain?"

"No," he denies and takes my chin between his fingers. "A mistress of pain."

He kisses me and it's different, it's frightening. He has a piercing in his mouth, on his tongue. It cuts me when his tongue explores my mouth. But at the same time, it feels good. Nothing like the lame kisses I'm used to. It's deep, painful and ecstatic. When he lets me go, I can only gasp for air and swallow my own blood. His chin has some as well, but his face remains stoic this time. Not what I would call a declaration of affection.

I pull away in shame and disgust. Why am I doing this to myself? Why am I becoming what he wants me to be? I'm angry and messed up and he's the root of all evil.

"Get the fuck out of here!" I yell, but my anger merely seems to amuse him.

"Until next time, Kirsty," that deep voice says and he walks past me, brushing against my half-naked body. And with that he's gone again. I'm left alone in the candlelight with a bloodstained carpet and the puzzle box. I feel like crying, but I don't.

Here I have control. I can relish my metamorphosis and still have a piece of the old Kirsty left in me. If I follow the demon, I'll become one of them: A mistress of pain, as he said. Is that his wish? That I become a cenobite? Is that why he responds to my desires? He sees more than flesh and bone and sin. He sees a future.

I sit down on the couch, defeated. Why is the fruition of my fantasies more frightening than even having the thought in the first place? Because I know now that I will never be safe? That I don't want to be saved anymore? That he's really succeeded in remaking me? Then my eyes meet with the puzzle box. For the first time in ages I think about getting rid of it and then I grab it and throw it against the mirror on the wall. It shatters and the noise gives me some peace.

They say the road to hell is paved with good intentions. I just wanted to save my father. By the time I even cared for myself, it was too late. So when I'm gone, who will grieve for me? I assume no one. I have been the devil's own for so many years I never began living my life.

My hell is my reality.

-fin


End file.
